


Out Of My League

by flawedamythyst



Series: League [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Sports, Deaf Clint Barton, Five Aside, Football | Soccer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint hates team sports, but getting to see Bucky Barnes twice a week is more than worth three years on a five-aside soccer team. Even if his crush is never going to go anywhere, because there's no way Bucky has ever looked twice at him.





	Out Of My League

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Flowerparrish for the advice!

The thing was, Clint didn’t actually like soccer. He wasn’t really a fan of any team sports; if it wasn’t just him and his bow against the laws of physics, he wasn’t particularly interested.

But when Steve got an idea in his head, you just kinda had to go along with it or get steamrollered. So, when Steve announced one day that he was starting a five-aside soccer team, and proceeded to stare meaningfully at everyone in their part of the office, Clint gave in to the inevitable and agreed to go along to try-outs. He’d figured he could kick a ball around for a bit, then either Steve would realise he wasn’t good enough or he’d be able to plead too many commitments for a full season and duck out of it.

Except, the first thing Steve had done at the try-outs was introduce his best friend Bucky Barnes as his co-captain. That had been three years ago.

Clint knew he was being pathetic, pining after a teammate, but he kinda figured that so much of his life was pathetic that it was pretty much his signature style now, and he might as well embrace it.

He’d turned out to be actually pretty good at soccer, mostly because his aim with his feet was just as good as his aim with his hands, so he got put up front where he could shoot at the goal as often as possible. The other attacker on their team (which Steve had decided to call ‘the Avengers’ for reasons that never became entirely clear to Clint) was Bucky, which Clint had thought would end up being sweet torture, but was actually pretty great.

As well as being sweet torture, of course.

See, the thing was that Bucky wasn’t really one for touching people or even really relaxing around them, unless they were Steve. Off the pitch, he typically kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over, and although he’d relaxed a lot since Clint first met him, especially with his teammates, he still kept a fairly impenetrable cocoon of personal space around himself.

On the pitch, though, was a completely different matter. He just threw himself into every game as if it were life-and-death, which meant he celebrated every goal as if they’d just won the World Cup, body-slamming embraces and all. The incentive of knowing he’d get a hug from Bucky if he made a shot had definitely been a key factor in just how many goals Clint scored for them each season.

If they won the match, then Bucky’s enthusiasm carried over to the bar afterwards, so he was far more likely to pat someone’s arm or lean in close to whoever was next to him. Clint had turned making sure he was sitting next to Bucky without being obvious about how much he wanted to into an artform.

As time passed after the end of each match, Bucky would slowly shrink back into himself, until Clint was giving him space without thinking about it, just because he looked so uncomfortable whenever anyone came too close. Which was roughly when Clint started plotting just how he was going to make sure they won the next match, because he was apparently a creeper like that.

Screw it, his crush wasn’t hurting anyone. It wasn’t as if he didn’t always make sure Bucky was the one making the move to get closer to him, rather than pressuring him by trying to be just as touchy-feely with him as he wanted.

“Okay, we’re up against Hydra next week,” said Steve, leaning forward as the waitress set a tray with their second round of drinks down.

“Ugh, those dicks,” muttered Sam.

Hydra were the worst team in the league. Not ability-wise, unfortunately, but every single one of them was an asshole, and their captain, Brock Rumlow, was the worst of all. They seemed to think the point of the game was to see how many fouls they could commit without the umpire noticing, and how many they could goad the other team into by making shitty little comments. Every single match Clint had played against them, he’d finished covered in bruises and clenching his fists with frustration that he couldn’t just beat the crap out of them.

“We have to clean the floor with them,” said Clint, leaning forward.

“Agreed,” said Bucky. “I’m not having Rumlow smirking satisfaction at us again.”

Last time they’d played Hydra, Rumlow had said something that had made Bucky so mad that he’d forgotten every rule of the game and just thrown himself at him. There had very nearly followed a full on mass fight, before the referee had pulled Bucky off and sent him off the field. They’d lost pretty spectacularly after that, despite everyone’s best efforts.

“Exactly,” said Steve. “I’m thinking extra practice. Is everyone free Thursday?”

Clint was already shaking his head. “Sorry, man, I can’t.” Thursday was the night he taught a archery class for kids at the local range where he pretty much lived when he wasn’t at work.

“Friday?” asked Steve.

Torn, Clint shook his head again. “Sorry, man.” Friday was the night that he had a blanket booking for private time at the range, and maybe most weeks he could skip out on that just once, for something this important, but not this week. “I can’t make any night.”

Bucky made a frustrated sound and slammed the fist of his prosthetic against the table. “C’mon, you must be able to make at least one night?”

Clint taught another class on Mondays, met up with Kate on Wednesdays for one-on-one tutoring, and Tuesdays were their regular soccer practice night anyway. He shook his head. 

“I can’t move any of it,” he said. 

There was a big archery meet coming up next Sunday, which both he and Kate needed to be ready for. He probably should have been ducking out of the match all together so he could get some range time in next Saturday, but leaving his team to face Hydra without him just wasn’t happening.

“Okay, then we’ll just have to make the most of Tuesday,” said Steve. “Everyone needs to be there on time, or earlier, okay?”

That, Clint could do. He nodded along with the others, trying not to think about just how physically demonstrative Bucky might get if they managed to thoroughly crush Hydra.

****

Saturday started with a light drizzle, but it had cleared off by the time they got to the park and started warming up.

“Remember,” said Steve. “Don’t give in to their bullshit. Keep your head in the game, stick to the rules, and don’t lose your shit.” He was pointedly staring at Bucky as he said this.

Bucky glared back. “I got it, Stevie. I’ll wait to beat his face in until after the game. I’m not letting them walk away with another win.”

Steve nodded, apparently satisfied by that. Clint did another lunging stretch and tried not to watch Bucky’s ass as he bent over to lace his boots. From the look Tony gave him, he wasn‘t subtle, but it wasn’t like Tony had a leg to stand on. Officially, he was the team sponsor and manager, but unofficially, he’d turned up once to see Rhodey play, and then stuck around for every match after in order to stare at Steve running about in tiny shorts. It had taken nearly a year for Steve to catch on, and another couple of weeks before he made a move, but they were disgustingly in love now.

Watching that happen, while trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t pining for Bucky, had been something like being stabbed. Clint tried not to think about how easy they’d made it look, once they were both on the same page.

But Bucky wasn’t into guys, or at least had never given any sign of it. He didn’t seem to be into women much either, which made Clint think that he’d put his libido on a back shelf in the aftermath of coming back injured from Afghanistan. Which was heartbreaking because, okay, Clint probably wasn’t ever going to end up hitting that, but _someone_ should be. He was way too hot to have resigned himself to being single.

Ugh, that made Clint sound like a looks-obsessed asshole. Bucky was hot, sure, but he was also funny and determined and surprisingly caring, once you’d got past his walls. He deserved to have someone he could take care of, and who’d take care of him at the same time, pull him out of his bad moods and make him laugh.

They’d somehow got the same referee they’d had for the last match against Hydra, which seemed like bad luck for him. Everyone in the league knew that if the Avengers played Hydra, it was going to be a grudge match. Usually their audience was little more than Tony and whoever Sam’s girlfriend of the week was, plus Natasha if she couldn’t find anything else to do, but there were at least a dozen spectators today, all of them watching the two teams with expressions that would probably be more at home at a boxing match.

“I’m gonna tell you what I told them,” said Bruce when he came over for a pre-game talk. “I’m not going to mess about with the benefit of the doubt. If I think you’ve crossed a line, I’ll take you off the pitch. We’re not having a repeat of last time, it makes the whole league look bad.”

Steve nodded. “Agreed.”

Bruce already looked exhausted. Clint wondered if the referees had all drawn straws and he’d lost out, or if the other refs had all agreed that the way he could go from mild-mannered to absolutely terrifying if you pissed him off made him the best man for the job. Either way, it didn’t look like it had been his choice.

“Let’s get the coin toss over with,” he said, glancing over at where Hydra were getting ready and gesturing at Brock.

Steve followed him back to the centre of the pitch and the rest of the team straggled after. Clint held back, touching Bucky’s arm to keep him back as well. “Look, Rumlow’s going to say more shit to you, now he thinks it works.”

Bucky scowled. “I know that. Don’t worry, I’ve got a lid on it.”

“No,” said Clint, “I meant- listen. If it gets too bad, give me the nod and I’ll take him out. You’re more valuable on the pitch than I am, and anyway, I’ve been working on making it look accidental. I bet I can hit him with a tackle he won’t get up from.”

Bucky stared at him, then cracked a grin, slapping a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Thanks, but Steve would kill you.”

Clint shrugged. “I can take Steve,” he said, in blatant disregard of all reality. From the look Bucky gave him, he knew exactly how untrue that was.

Steve won the toss, and the teams spread out to take their positions. Rumlow was Hydra’s defender, which put him annoyingly close to both Clint and Bucky.

He grinned at Bucky with a smug look that was already making Clint’s fist itch. “Surprised you didn’t get kicked out of the league after last time, soldier.”

Fuck, Clint really hated the way Rumlow always called Bucky ‘soldier’ in that mocking little voice, as if rubbing in that Bucky was no longer in the Army.

Bucky’s jaw set, but he didn’t respond. He fixed his eyes on Steve, and the minute the ball was in play, he was moving. Clint tore his eyes away from him and concentrated on the game, treating it with all the dedication and seriousness that he usually saved for the season finale of _Dog Cops_. Hydra weren’t going to win, not today.

The match started out pretty well. Sam and Steve were just as focused, which kept Hydra from getting anywhere near Rhodey in the goal. Bucky got a shot at the goal about ten minutes in, but he was out on the wing and the angle was tight, and Rollins easily saved it.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, soldier,” said Rumlow.

Bucky took a visibly deep breath, gritting his teeth together. 

“Don’t worry,” Clint said to Rumlow. “With the way you guys are playing, I’m sure he’ll have plenty of other chances.”

Bucky snorted a laugh and sent Clint a grateful look, then the ball was back in play, and they were all moving again.

It was less than five minutes later that Rumlow took his revenge. Clint had the ball and was glancing to Bucky to pass, when Rumlow barrelled right into him, foot sliding right into Clint’s and bringing them both crashing to the ground.

He hit the grass with a heavy thump, with Rumlow practically on top of him.

“Hey!” he heard Bruce shout, followed by a whistle blow, but it was all only in one ear.

Fuck, he’d lost his aid somewhere. He glanced around the grass for a flash of purple. “Hey, wait, my aid, I’ve lost my aid,” he said, pulling himself up to see better.

He caught sight of it, nestled in the grass and smeared with mud, a split-second before Rumlow’s boot came crashing down on it.

“No!” he shouted, throwing himself at it and pushing Rumlow to one side, but it was too late. Complicated and delicate electronics were crushed into the ground, spilling out of the cracked case. “Fuck!”

“Oh man, I’m sorry, I didn’t see it there,” said Rumlow, in the least sincere voice Clint had ever heard.

“You fucking asshole!” he heard Bucky say dimly from the side that was now deaf, then he was ploughing across Clint’s vision and into Rumlow, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Clint was vaguely aware of two or three spectators cheering, because this was what they’d come here to see. He ignored it all in favour of carefully picking up his aid, cradling all the bits that were threatening to spill out of the casing in his hand. Fuck, he was going to need a whole new set.

“Hey, can I see?” asked a voice from his good side, and Clint looked up to see Tony hovering with his hand out. Wordlessly, he tipped the ruined aid into his hand, then glanced around to see that Bruce and Steve had separated Bucky and Rumlow, although it looked a lot like Steve was fighting the urge to just join in.

He stood up and walked over, already unconsciously angling his head so that he could hear better with only one ear working. He was bruised and battered from the fall, but he didn’t care about that. Falling was a part of playing sports. Losing his aid made him feel horribly vulnerable, and he was going to rip Rumlow’s throat out for it.

Sam caught his arm, holding him back and speaking quickly into his working ear. “No, Clint, c’mon, this isn’t the way. We’re better than that, man.”

Clint snarled, but he made himself hold still. He turned his gaze on Bruce. “That fucker crushed my hearing aid on purpose. If you don’t give him a red card, fuck, if you don’t ban him from the league, then this whole thing is bullshit.”

“Hey! It wasn’t on purpose!” said Rumlow. “How am I to know I’m meant to be watching my step in case you’ve left crap all over the pitch?”

Bucky let out an actual growl at that, pulling forward in Steve’s grip.

“Okay, stop!” said Bruce. “Jesus, you guys are the _worst_.” He pointed a finger at Rumlow. “You. That tackle was illegal, doesn’t matter if you meant to break the hearing aid or not. You crossed the line.”

He turned and jabbed a finger at Bucky. “And you, I told you, no fighting.”

“He trashed a deaf guy’s hearing aid,” snarled Bucky. “You really expected me to sit back and do nothing?”

Bruce looked like he just wanted to go home and cry. “I can’t believe he did that on purpose.”

“Believe,” snarled Clint.

“And even if I could,” continued Bruce, “there’s no way to prove it either way. Clint, I’m sorry about your aid. Can you play on?”

Clint actually thought about it for a moment before he shook his head. Only hearing out of one ear would throw his balance off, and having neither aid in would leave him at a significant disadvantage.

“Okay,” said Bruce. “Okay.” He looked at Steve. “Do you have a substitute?” he asked, not sounding hopeful.

“If Clint can’t play, none of us are,” said Steve, without even hesitating. “We’re a team.”

Clint felt warmth spill over in his chest, but it was blanketed beneath a layer of pure rage.

“Okay,” said Bruce. “I guess I can understand that.” He glanced around the field, at the players and then at the crowd watching. “Normally I’d say we should just call it and come back another time, but I’m thinking that it’s not such a great idea for you guys to play each other again. How about we just call this a nil-nil draw and let it go at that?”

Clint clenched his hands into fists, because they shouldn’t be having to accept a draw, they should be getting a win. They would have beaten Hydra in a fair match, and it wasn’t their fault they hadn’t had the chance to.

Steve was nodding though, even while still glaring at Rumlow. Clint guessed it made the most sense, rather than having to do this all again some other time but, fuck, it felt horribly unfair.

“Okay, great,” said Bruce as Rumlow nodded as well, sneering at Steve. “Then this match is officially over, and you can all fuck off to a bar. I’d suggest different bars. And,” he added, turning to Steve, “I think you should know that I can’t kick a team out of the league without due process, but if enough of the other teams in the league submit a formal complaint…” he waggled his eyes in a meaningful manner.

“Fuck, yeah,” muttered Sam from beside Clint. “I know the Fantastics and the X-Men would sign on to that. Probably the Spiders as well.”

“I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t,” said Clint. “Maybe AIM?”

Rumlow let out a sharp sigh of disgust. “That’s because they’re the only team that aren’t fucking pussies,” he said. “Look at you lot. Deaf guy, one-armed guy - you’re the ones that should be getting kicked out of the league to go join some para-bullshit league where you might have a chance in hell.”

Clint was so shocked that anyone would actually say that that he just froze up. Before he could pull himself together enough to attack the asshole, a beautifully launched fist smacked into Rumlow’s face, snapping his head back.

“You’re an asshole,” said Bruce, not even stopping to rub his knuckles as Rumlow stared at him in surprise. “And one who didn’t read the league rules properly before signing up. I can’t toss your team for their atrocious behaviour on the pitch, but I can toss you for being an ablest, bigoted asshole. You’re out of the league, Rumlow. Don’t bother showing up to any other matches, any team you’re on will be disqualified. Now fuck off.”

Rumlow snarled at him, but he did turn to leave, apparently not willing to risk getting another punch like that one.

“Wow, okay, I kinda feel like cheering,” said Tony. “Anyone else feel like cheering? Wow, Brucie baby, that was incredible, I may even be a little turned on right now.”

“You’re coming to the bar with us,” added Rhodey. “You look like you could use a drink, and I’m definitely buying you one for that punch, that was a mean right hook.”

Hydra were sloping off the pitch, so Clint shook Sam’s grip off his arm and turned to Tony. “You got my aid?” he asked, holding a hand out for it. It might be busted, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a sentimental idiot.

Tony didn’t hand it over. “I’m pretty sure I can fix it,” he said. “Well, no, maybe fix is the wrong word, I’m pretty sure I can build you a new one that will be at least twenty percent better. Maybe twenty-five percent.”

“Seriously?” asked Clint.

“Yeah,” said Tony, as if was nothing. “I mean, I thought I probably could, but I’ve never been able to have a closer look because, you know, they’re always in your ears.”

“Because he needs them to hear, idiot,” said Bucky, and Clint turned to realise he’d come close on his deaf side. He waited until Clint was looking at him before speaking. “Are you okay? That fall looked pretty hard.”

Clint nodded. “I’m fine. Just pissed.”

“Yeah, me too,” agreed Bucky. “Are you coming to the bar?”

“No,” said Clint. “Not with only one working aid. I won’t be able to keep track of the conversation at all. I’m just going to head home and order pizza.”

Steve frowned, glancing around at the rest of the team. “Maybe we all should head home, and have a drink another time? Tomorrow?”

“I’m-” started Clint.

“-busy tomorrow,” Bucky finished with him. “Man, do you ever have any free time?”

 _I used to, before I joined this team just so that I could get to see your smile a couple of times a week,_ Clint didn’t say. “Usually on Sundays,” he said instead. “Just, tomorrow’s a big meet.”

“What kind of meet?” asked Sam, and Clint realised that he’d never actually mentioned the whole archery thing, somehow.

“Uh, archery,” he said. “I’m- it’s kinda my thing.” He mimed drawing back a bow and releasing an arrow. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

“Huh,” said Tony. “Archery.” He glanced over at Bucky for some reason, then over at Steve. “How the hell did that never come up?”

Clint just shrugged. “I guess I just figured everyone knew because….well.” Because it always felt so obvious to him, as if people should be able to look and see ‘archer’ written all through him.

“I guess that explains the shoulders,” said Bucky.

Clint grinned at him, unable to hold it in, because _Bucky had noticed his shoulders!_

Tony laughed, and then looked at Steve. “Oh man, this is too fucking perfect.” Steve grinned back at him, and Clint wondered what he’d missed. 

“Okay, new plan,” said Steve. “You’re shooting at this meet, I guess?”

“Always,” said Clint. “I need to prove to all the haters that I’m still the very best of the best.”

Steve nodded, glancing around at the others. “We should go along.”

Tony’s face lit up as he cackled. “Oh, babe, yes! Best plan. We need to support our teammate, yeah?” He gave Clint a very serious look. “Tell me, Clint, do you shoot shirtless?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Stark, but you’re going to have to stick with ogling Steve’s abs. I’m pretty sure they’d not let me on the range without a shirt.” He considered. “My shirt is sleeveless, though, so you’ll get a gun show.”

He flexed his biceps, just because, and Tony grinned with an almost unholy glee. “Oh, that sounds perfect.”

Clint glanced at Steve to see if he minded how blatantly his boyfriend was hitting on another guy, but Steve wasn’t even looking. Instead, he was giving Bucky a shit-eating grin for some reason, while Bucky gave him a half-hearted glare in return. Okay, some kinda weird best friends thing.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” he said. “I’ll text you the details.” He hesitated, then made a face and looked at Tony. “Are you going to want the working aid, if you’re going to try and redesign them, or whatever?”

“Yes please,” said Tony, making grabby hands. “If you don’t mind being without it.”

Clint shook his head. “I’ve got my old ones at home, and it’s only a few blocks.” He reached up to take it out, then hesitated when Bucky spoke.

“I’ll come with you.”

Great, so much for being treated like one of the guys. As soon as his weakness was exposed, they all thought he needed handholding, even the guy that only had one hand to hold. “I’ll be okay,” he said with a glare. “I’ve been deaf most of my life, I can walk a few blocks without aids in.”

“Sure,” agreed Bucky, “but you took a pretty hard fall and, frankly, I don’t trust Rumlow and his goons not to still be hanging about, waiting to get one of us alone. Besides, you said there would be pizza, and that sounds better than the shitty nachos at the bar.”

Put like that, it sounded a lot like Clint was going to get to chill out and eat pizza with his crush. “Okay, fine,” he relented. He pulled out the aid, flicking it off and handing it to Tony. “You’re going to need to make sure I’m looking at you when you speak though, and try not to mumble. My lipreading’s pretty good, but it’s not an exact science.”

Bucky waited until Clint was looking before he said, “No problem.”

****

They didn't talk on the way back. Clint wasn't interested in trying to walk and watch Bucky's mouth at the same time, and he was very aware that he had no idea how loud he was talking without his aids. He didn't really want the whole street staring at him.

When they got to his apartment, he left Bucky inside the door in order to dash into his bedroom and rummage through his nightstand for his spare aids. Fuck, he hoped they were still charged. 

By some miracle, they were charged and working. He let out a sigh of relief, feeling his shoulders relax.

When he went back out, Bucky had settled in on his couch as if he’d been there hundreds of times, and was inspecting an arrow with a frown. He looked up as Clint came in, eyes flicking to Clint's ears. “All good?”

Clint gave him a thumbs up and threw himself on to the sofa next to him. “No more relying on lipreading,” he said. “And the batteries should last at least a couple of hours.”

Which was probably longer than Bucky would be around. He and Clint didn't hang out, just the two of them. Clint had a feeling it was going to be at least a bit awkward.

Bucky held up the arrow. “I can see the archery thing now.”

Clint looked around at the arrows, bows and targets scattered around the place. “Yeah, you see why I just assumed everyone knew?”

Bucky nodded. “So this is what you spend all your time doing? Why you're never free?”

“Yep,” said Clint, taking the arrow from him and running an eye over it. He needed to fix the fetching, which was probably why it had been on the coffee table to start with.

“Okay,” said Bucky. “We all kinda figured you had a high-maintenance girlfriend, or a secret family or something.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, not a hope.” He hesitated, then added, “It would be a high-maintenance boyfriend, anyway.”

Bucky went very still. “Okay,” he said, not meeting Clint's eyes.

Aw, homophobia, no.

“That a problem?” he asked, because if it was, then today had been his last soccer match. Ever; he really hated soccer.

Except Bucky had never seemed to have a problem with Steve and Tony.

Bucky shook his head, meeting Clint’s frown with wide eyes. “Oh, no, not- of course not. Uh, I mean, me too.”

Oh man, that was excellent news.

 _Then maybe we could be each other’s high-maintenance boyfriends,_ Clint thought, but he couldn’t say that. If Bucky had been interested, he’d had three years of chances.

“Huh, so there’s four of us on the team, including Tony,” he said instead. “I mean, I know Sam’s very hetero, but do we know about Rhodey? We could rebrand as the Gay Avengers. Get rainbow shirts.”

Bucky snorted a laugh. “Tony would totally go for it,” he said, “but there’s no way Steve would.”

“Even with his best friend and his boyfriend talking him around?” asked Clint. “Plus, you’re co-captain, right, surely that means you and the manager can out-vote Steve?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m co-captain pretty much in name only, you musta figured that Steve calls all the shots by now. The only reason I am is because he knew it would get me to turn up that first day, and the whole thing was meant to be for my benefit anyway.”

“Really?” asked Clint. “I mean, I guess you clearly love soccer.”

“I like pretty much all team sports,” said Bucky. “When I,” he made a face, fingers going to tap on his prosthetic arm. “When I got back, I was kinda down. I mostly just stayed in and sulked about how I couldn’t do any of the stuff I used to do before, like sports.”

 _Had depression,_ Clint mentally translated from guy speak. _Maybe even PTSD._

“I’d lost contact with most of my old friends while I was in the Army anyway, so it was pretty much just Steve bullying me into leaving the house and shit. He and Sam hatched the idea that I could still play soccer with the prosthetic, especially if it was only on a local five-aside league, so they set the whole thing up, then Steve pretty much just told me it was happening the morning we had the try-outs.”

“Huh,” said Clint, thinking back. He’d spent a lot of the try-outs trying not to stare too obviously at Bucky, completely gobsmacked by just how hot he was. “You did seem to do a lot of glaring, I guess. I thought you were just unimpressed with the talent on offer.”

Bucky laughed. “Not once you started doing all those ridiculous trick shots at the goal. How do you even manage them?”

Clint shrugged. “Being really fucking good at hitting a target is kinda my one thing,” he said, gesturing at the bow in the corner again. “Doesn’t really matter if it’s an arrow or a ball.” He considered. “Well, except that arrows are more fun.” he looked down and realised just how much mud was caked on his leg.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna grab a quick shower to get some of this off me,” he said, rubbing at it and then wondering why when a shower of mud flakes rained on the carpet. “Is that okay? There’s a pizza menu on the fridge if you want to go ahead and order. I pretty much always have pepperoni, and they’ll have the address and credit card on file.”

And if Clint called, he’d pretty much only have to say ‘hi, it’s Clint’, to get his usual order sent over as soon as possible.

“Okay, that sounds good,” said Bucky, then hesitated. “If you don’t mind me staying. I just didn’t want to go to the bar, because they’ll all be all angry and ranting, and I’m already so mad, I don’t want to keep at it.”

“No, it’s cool,” said Clint. “Seriously, I get how that is. I kinda don’t want to be alone, because I’ll just wind myself up more and end up breaking something with frustration.”

“Enough of your stuff has already been broken today,” said Bucky.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint shortly, clenching his hands into fists, because _fuck_ Rumlow, how dare he break Clint’s fucking hearing aid?

“It’ll be okay,” said Bucky. “If Tony says he can make something better, he will. You can trust him with it.” He held up his prosthetic. “He did a good job of my arm.”

Bucky’s prosthetic was a shiny, sleek work of art, so Clint nodded his agreement, and then went to have that shower.

When he came back, wearing the first pair of sweatpants he could find and with his hair still damp, because he didn’t want to waste any more of the time that Bucky was actually in his apartment than he had to, Bucky was flicking through the TV channels.

“Pizza will be here soon,” he said, then glanced over at Clint. He just stared for a moment with a very strange look on his face, then cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away to the TV. “Anything you want to watch?”

Clint glanced down at himself to check he hadn't made any glaring errors. “Is there something on my face?”

Bucky looked back, shaking his head.

“Then what?” asked Clint.

Bucky offered a one-shouldered shrug, not meeting Clint's eyes. “That t-shirt's too small for you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, throwing himself onto the sofa next to Bucky. “It's old, but it's soft as hell. Touch it.”

Bucky stared at him. “What?”

“Touch it,” insisted Clint, presenting his chest to him. “Seriously, you can't beat the comfiness of old clothing.”

Bucky hesitated, then stretched out a hand and brushed his fingers over the fabric covering Clint's chest. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

Was Clint being weird? He had a feeling he was being weird. He reined himself in, moving back into the corner of the sofa and glancing at the TV. “I don't mind what we watch. If it was just me, I'd be catching up on _Dog Cops_ , but I'm up for a movie or whatever instead if you want?”

“ _Dog Cops_ sounds good,” said Bucky. “I'm a couple of episodes behind as well.”

Aw man, could this guy get more perfect? “You watch _Dog Cops_?” asked Clint.

Bucky raised his eyebrows “Everyone watches it. _Tony_ watches it.”

Huh. Clint hadn't credited Tony with enough taste for that.

“Then we're definitely watching it,” he said, grabbing the remote and opening up his saved episodes.

The pizza arrived during the first episode, and was pretty much finished by the end of the second. The awkward Clint had been expecting didn’t arrive at all. Bucky turned out to have many of the same thoughts and opinions on the characters and storylines as Clint did, and cackled with laughter when Clint explained his theory about the deeper meaning behind Officer Wags’s love of Milk-Bones.

Watching Bucky’s face light up with laughter was almost as good as the way he swayed towards Clint, almost automatically. “You know I’m going to be thinking about that pretty much every time he mentions them now?” he said.

“Yep,” said Clint, with pride. “Want another beer?”

Bucky glanced at the clock, then nodded. “Yeah, why not? You know Tony will be trying to get Steve drunk at the bar, and mostly just getting himself drunk, so I may as well have a cushion before I have to go home and deal with a drunk Stark getting all handsy in my lounge.”

Clint made a face at the idea as he stood up. “Ugh, yeah, seems like you might need more than a few to face that.” He got them each a beer and popped the lids off before heading back, grinning as he went. “I mean, all I have to worry about is being at the absolute top of my game tomorrow, so I can easily join you in a few more.”

Bucky snorted as he took the bottle from Clint. “You’re not very modest about this archery thing,” he said.

“Nope,” agreed Clint, sitting back down, possibly closer to Bucky than was polite but it wasn’t as if Bucky wasn’t sitting with one knee up so that he could turn towards Clint. In stark contrast to the usual pattern when they went to the bar after a game, Bucky was getting more and more relaxed as time passed, pressing his knee against Clint’s thigh and leaning in towards him. “And once you see me shoot, you’ll realise why. I’m pretty awesome.”

Bucky laughed, and Clint couldn’t keep in his gleeful smile at having prompted something so free and easy from him.

“Oh, hey, I meant to say,” said Bucky, and he moved back a bit, which was sad. “If you’re not cool with us all gatecrashing your archery thing tomorrow, just say and I’ll talk Tony out of his mad plan. He’s only in it to wind me up, anyway.”

Clint frowned. “Wind _you_ up? How’s that?”

Bucky immediately caught out. “Ah,” he said. “Shit, I wasn’t going to-” He winced, then shook his head, glanced back at the screen for a moment, which was still waiting for them to click on the next episode of _Dog Cops_ , then sighed and looked back at Clint. “Okay, so, a few months ago, when the Olympics were on, me and Steve and Tony got in a debate about what kind of athlete had the best body. Tony was all about the rowers and Steve wouldn’t shut up about the divers, but I told them they were both wrong, because it’s all about the archers.”

Clint stared at him for a moment, and Bucky gave a helpless little shrug, which made Clint start to laugh. “Oh man, no wonder Tony lit up like a Christmas tree earlier.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered. “It’s not like I’m not going to be hearing about this for the next year or so.” He hesitated, giving Clint an intense look that made his laughter dry up, then gave a falsely casual shrug and added, “Especially as they all know I think you’re hot.”

“What?” said Clint, dumbfounded, and Bucky’s shoulders hunched over and he started pulling back from him.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just, you know, you’re kinda good-looking.” He glanced at the clock again. “Actually, you know what, maybe I will make a move, it’s getting la-”

“Nope,” said Clint, sitting forward and putting his hand on Bucky’s knee to keep him in place. “No running off. You seriously think I’m hot?”

Bucky looked back at him, vulnerable in a way Clint had never believed he could be. “Well, yeah. Have you seen yourself? I mean, you must know, or why the hell would you be wearing a shirt that tight?”

Clint looked down at himself again. “It was the closest clean shirt,” he said, and then, because apparently they were doing confessions right now, “I didn’t want to be gone long enough to give you time to decide to leave.”

“Yeah, that wasn't going to happen, “ said Bucky. He moved closer again, pressing his knee into Clint's thigh. “Not when I finally found a time to hang out with you when you're not busy.”

Clint was starting to think that maybe he'd hit his head when Rumlow tackled him and this was all some kind of coma hallucination. That didn't mean he wasn't going to push it as far as he could.

“I could get busy right now, if you were up for it,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows in case the innuendo wasn't clear enough. 

Bucky stared at him, and for a moment Clint thought he’d been reading the atmosphere wrong, and this hadn’t been flirting after all, then Bucky let his head drop and he rubbed at his forehead. “Oh man, I don’t know why I was so worried about my shitty flirting skills when I shoulda guessed you’d be just that cheesey about it.”

“Hey!” protested Clint. “That was a damn smooth line.”

For some reason, that made Bucky start laughing. Clint huffed with indignation, but he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping to his face, especially not when Bucky leaned in and rested his head on Clint’s shoulder as if he didn’t have the strength to keep it up.

“Oh man, and I think you actually believe that.”

Clint felt frozen in place, as if even the slightest move could prompt Bucky to suddenly realise just how close they were and move away, but he forced himself to bring a hand up to rest on top of Bucky’s head anyway, because he really wanted to see what his hair felt like. Fuck, it was soft. “Depends if it works or not, I guess,” he said, with his heart in his throat.

Bucky lifted his head, and suddenly it was their faces that were close together, Clint’s hand still tangled in Bucky’s hair.

“There’s not many lines you can try that wouldn’t work,” he said, and then he was kissing Clint, pressing closer to him on the sofa while Clint wrapped his other arm around his shoulders and just held on.

Fuck, how was this actually a thing that was happening to him? All those hours of playing a stupid sport like soccer had definitely been worth this.

Bucky’s phone beeped and Bucky sighed. “I bet that’s Steve,” he muttered. “He always has the worst timing.” There was another two beeps and he made a face, then pulled away from Clint, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

Clint let himself relax back against the sofa. It felt like all the tension he’d been carrying after the destruction of his hearing aid had just floated away into the sky. Bucky Barnes actually wanted to make out with him. This was pretty much the best day ever.

Bucky read the messages with a snort. “Apparently Rumlow and the rest of Hydra decided to corner Steve and Tony on their way home. Probably thought I’d be with them. Steve and Tony kicked their asses.”

Clint grinned. “As they fucking deserve.” He reached out a hand and snagged Bucky’s shirt. “Now, I think we were in the middle of something…”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he tucked the phone away and leaned in again, pressing Clint back against the sofa with the heavy warmth of his body. Fucking perfect.


End file.
